Dennis Robaugh: Lessons from the road less traveled

Columnist Dennis Robaugh reflects on a pivotal moment that changed his life forever.

Dennis Robaugh

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I –

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

- the final lines of Robert Frost’s 1915 poem

“The Road Not Taken”

The year was 1987. I stood in the main hall of my high school chatting with a pal when my buddy Dominic ambushed me and hoisted me into the air. I kicked and squirmed, but others joined in and together they carted me down the hallway to the school’s band room.

“We need actors,” Dominic said, plopping me down next to a piano.

“Whattaya mean you need actors?” I protested.

“This year’s show is ‘Lil Abner,’ and we need a bunch of guys,” he replied. “So, you're trying out.”

The drama teacher looked me over, pained at having to resort to strong-arm tactics to gather a cast for the school play. Few boys had tried out for the show, and the spring production seemed to be doomed. I tried to escape, but my path was blocked by desperate young thespians anxious to save their show. With trepidation, I acquiesced.

“You have to sing me a song,” the teacher said.

Now, Mrs. Curtis was no artsy-fartsy-flighty cliché of a drama teacher. She was tough, and everybody knew it. Mess with her, and she’d crush your world.

“I don’t know any,” I said back.

“You know ‘Mary Had a Little Lamb,’ don’t ya?”

Well, yes, I did. Then sing, she commanded, sitting down to the piano.

And sing I did, trembling with every verse.

“You’re a baritone,” Mrs. Curtis announced, as if unveiling some heretofore unknown part of my identity.

She demanded a dramatic reading. Having just been bodily dragged into this, I had nothing to read. She handed me a physics text book.

“Pick a page and read - with some feeling,” she demanded.

And so I did, tentative at first, then with gusto. I snapped the book closed and strutted across the room, speaking with authority on angular momentum and driving force as I made my way across the floor ... and angled my way toward the door.

Several months of rehearsal later, we staged several showings of the 1950s-era musical based on the old Al Capp comic strip. As one of the hillbilly hunks of li’l ol’ Dogpatch, I danced and sang and cavorted across the stage. I found friends among kids who once were just faces in the hallway. And I learned more about myself in those months than I had in all four years of school.

A few weeks ago, I realized 20 years had passed since senior year. The high school reunion may be coming up ... if it hasn’t come and gone already. I don’t keep up with such things, and I’ve moved far from home. Truth be told, the kids I grew up with long ago became memories.

All but one.

I never found my way onto a stage again, but that show set me on a path quite different from the one I was on. I have Dominic to thank for that.

In the poem, Frost’s traveler thinks back on the choice he made, wondering, perhaps wistfully, if the road he’d chosen was the right one.

I tell this not with a sigh, but a fond thankfulness. I’ve learned there are times when we must be dragged kicking and screaming down the road less traveled.